A letter to my son as he turns 18 in this strangest of years: Jayne Dowle

This Sunday my son, Jack, will be blowing out the candles and taking possession of an adult life. How can I prepare him for adulthood in a year when all the old certainties have been thrown up in the air?

Many of his friends had to mark their milestones quietly, behind closed doors in the darkest days of lockdown. At least we’ll be able to hold a small socially-distanced party in the back garden, weather permitting. Guests may wear face-masks for protection. We’ll find a place for the sanitiser alongside the presents and cake.

Jack is at college studying broadcast journalism, but many of his friends wake up today to discover their A-level results. What an absolute travesty. The jaw-dropping stories about ‘standardising’ marks according to the school’s past performance and socio-economic factors are true. It happened to my friend’s own 18-year-old son in Scotland with his Highers.

This is the world now; a realm of ‘computer says no’. Our offspring may be big and strong and tower above us – Jack certainly does – but they have no power over officialdom and bureaucracy. This is my biggest fear for Jack and his generation. Not even drugs or drink or horrific random violence, but that creeping loss of individuality.

Jack is my first-born, a much-wanted child who arrived after years of sadness and loss. His first few weeks were difficult. He almost died of dehydration and ended up hospitalised. That tiny scrap we coaxed to feed is now six foot three. Our life stories are entirely intertwined. Jack was just four months old when I went back to work as a newspaper executive in London. Pretty soon it dawned on me that my love for this longed-for child and 12-hour office days were incompatible. Work from home hadn’t been invented yet.

By the end of the year we’d uprooted our London life to return to Barnsley, where I was born. My parents were waiting eagerly; Jack has grown up with huge respect for older people as a result of his close relationship with his grandparents.

Jack and I came first, camping out in our new home like pioneers. His dad followed a couple of months after.

Barnsley welcomed us with open arms. We quickly found networks and friends old and new who shared my belief that the North/South divide should and could be smashed.

Jack and his sister, Lizzie, who followed three years later, spent much of their early childhood at meetings and events connected to civic pride and community regeneration. He could negotiate a buffet table from the age of four. Some skills money can’t buy. Back then, there was hope. And Sure Start. And central government funding and EU investment being pumped into areas like South Yorkshire to bolster the economy and create jobs. Where will Jack work? His ambition is to be a broadcast sports journalist.

When I was 18, I couldn’t wait to leave home. He’s the opposite. He wants to eventually buy a house nearby – and yes, I made him take out a Help to Buy ISA before the deadline – and stay in Yorkshire. Until coronavirus, he was pleased there are media opportunities regionally and across the North, with the BBC, local radio and internet, and potentially, with Channel Four and Sky in Leeds. So much hangs in the balance now. At this stage, we don’t even know if his college course will resume in September. As we’re now in the worst UK recession since records began, will his dream ever become reality?

When you’re young you should be able to seize every opportunity. This year, there has been an overwhelming sense of time slipping into a void. A whole summer of work experience and internships lost to lockdown. Instead he’s spent his time working at Asda.

If Jack takes nothing else from these uncertain times, it will be the strong work ethic I’ve drilled into him. He’s not saved lives, but he’s kept filling those shelves with a smile and a big dose of Yorkshire humour.

He loves the fact that it says ‘Camden’ on his birth certificate, but Jack’s definitely got Tyke in his veins.

Football is his passion and his proudest inheritance. He could kick a ball before he could walk and he still plays, as goalkeeper, for Worsbrough Bridge Athletic FC under-19s. His Yorkshire great-grandfathers, both miners, would be quietly proud. He’s named after one of them. When I chose his name however, I wanted it to carry him through life with no judgment; classless, timeless and easy to pronounce. I’ve always told him; never forget where you come from, but don’t let it define you.

I once wanted Jack to become a global citizen, to travel and perhaps even to work or study abroad for a while. I’ve put that particular dream to one side. And in any case, it’s Jack’s future now, not mine.

Editor’s note: first and foremost - and rarely have I written down these words with more sincerity - I hope this finds you well.

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Sincerely. Thank you.

James Mitchinson

Editor